


passed down like folk songs

by dizzywhiz



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Character Death, Reunion Fic, canon character death, not me being inspired by folklore again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzywhiz/pseuds/dizzywhiz
Summary: A story of Kurt growing up, meeting his best friend and losing him and finding him again, discovering himself in the process.(or, the Seven fic)
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 40
Kudos: 103





	passed down like folk songs

**Author's Note:**

> hi! I couldn't get this out of my brain so I had to spit it out. much inspired by seven by taylor swift!
> 
> I also wanted to challenge myself to write in present tense and not use any dialogue, so this is a bit different for me!
> 
> is this proofread or edited in the slightest? no. does it make any sense? I don't know. do I want to post it anyways? yes. so here you go.
> 
> for hayley, just because x

Kurt is seven when a new family moves in next door.

He’s _freshly_ seven, actually, since his birthday was just a few days ago. 

The new family kind of feels like a birthday present, and when he peeps out of his window to see a boy his age running circles around the moving truck in the driveway, it really _does_ feel like a present.

The house next door had been empty for a really, really long time, after all.

He wonders if the boy would want to be his friend.

But he’s nervous.

It isn’t until he goes downstairs for his afternoon snack that he decides to try - or, rather, his mom ushers him outside with a double helping of homemade chocolate chip cookies to share.

The boy is still out there, now drawing with chalk in the spare driveway space that isn’t covered by moving boxes or taken up by the moving truck or cars. His back is to Kurt, but as Kurt grows closer, he can hear the boy humming.

He’s still nervous, but he recognizes the song from The Little Mermaid, one of his favorites, and it gives Kurt the push he needs to channel his best manners and tap the boy on the shoulder with a polite _excuse me?_

When the boy turns around to see who’s approached him, he doesn’t even look surprised - in fact, he beams up at Kurt like all the rays of the sun, wasting no time before grabbing another piece of chalk and offering it up to him.

The boy introduces himself as Blaine, tells Kurt that he’s six, eyeing the cookies in Kurt’s hand while he talks

Kurt’s never heard the name before, and he’s never really talked to a six year old, either.

He feels a little awkward, but he realizes that Blaine had just asked him a question, wanting to know if Kurt lives next door, and that means Kurt is supposed to answer.

And so Kurt fidgets with the napkin-wrapped bundle of cookies in his hands, and he nods, and he introduces himself, punctuating it by stretching out his hand.

Maybe he’s only interested in the cookies.

The boy - Blaine - takes the bundle, but his smile kind of falters a little, which is weird, and Kurt wants to know right away how to make it come back.

Which is weird, too.

Blaine thanks him for the cookies - and it’s nice that he’s polite, too.

And then he asks Kurt if he wants to stay and play for a while, which - _oh._

_Okay._

Kurt agrees, and he makes himself smile, and he sits down and picks up a green piece of chalk and a cookie, too.

And that’s kind of it.

They draw, and they talk, and Kurt gives Blaine the rundown about school and what first grade has been like, even though the year’s almost over. He finds out that Blaine is finishing up kindergarten, which is kind of funny, because Kurt’s never had a friend that was in a different grade from him before.

Then again, he’s never really had many friends in general.

Some of the girls in his class like him well enough, but he learned pretty quickly that hanging out with the girls invites teasing from the boys. And Kurt hasn’t really figured out what to do with the boys yet. He’d rather swing or read or draw with chalk at recess than play tag or throw a ball around.

But it’s always been okay with him, because he has his mom, and his mom is pretty much the best.

And now he has Blaine, too.

After that first day, they play together so often that Kurt starts to forget what life was like _before_ Blaine lived next door. Blaine’s parents are kind of weird, in Kurt’s opinion - his mom goes out a lot, and his dad works most of the time and seems angry whenever he isn’t - so they spend a lot of time at Kurt’s house, which neither of them mind.

Kurt’s mom makes the best snacks and gives the best hugs, anyways, and his dad even runs around with them in the backyard and pushes them on the swings of the playset when he’s home from the shop. 

And then school gets out for the summer, and they play together even _more._

It’s pretty much the best summer ever.

Kurt finds out Blaine _really_ likes pirates, and he always wants to run around with an eye patch on and pretend the playset is a pirate ship and even make a telescope out of paper towel tubes. It’s not Kurt’s favorite game to play, but it makes Blaine happy, and at least Blaine lets Kurt be a pirate, too, so they’re on the same team fighting the invisible enemy.

So he plays anyway.

It only makes sense to let Blaine join the Tea Parties. They’re a special time for Kurt and his mom to play dress-up and practice good manners by drinking tea and eating little finger foods, and it always makes him feel fancy, too. 

Kurt doesn’t think the Tea Parties are Blaine’s favorite thing to do, but he thinks that maybe it’s like the way the pirates are for him - they do these things to make each other happy.

And so they spend the summer playing pirates and having tea parties, and they spend the summer happy.

And that kind of feels like what being friends - or even _best_ friends - is all about.

* * *

Kurt is eight when everything changes.

His mom dies.

_His mom dies._

She’s there one day like everything is normal, because it is. And then she goes out of town to visit her sister, and then she doesn’t come back.

And Kurt knows right away that nothing will be normal ever again.

He spends a lot of time at Blaine’s house - almost a week, actually. A marathon sleepover would have been cool and fun and exciting in any other circumstances, especially because it’s summer and they don’t have school. They even get to stay up late and watch as many movies as they want on the TV in Blaine’s room, but Kurt can’t really feel much of anything.

He can’t really understand it.

No more tea parties, no more cookies, no more hugs or bedtime stories or singing or dancing in the kitchen-

He can’t wrap his brain around it.

The only thing that can distract him at all is Blaine.

Blaine lets Kurt pick whatever movies he wants, even if it means they lose count of how many times they watch the Sound of Music, just so Kurt can feel close to her for a little while. He lets Kurt pick what games they play, and he doesn’t get mad when Kurt’s heart isn’t really in it. He tries to read Kurt stories before bed at night, and he doesn’t even make Kurt play pirates.

Blaine’s mom is around a lot, too, and she tries to cook meals from scratch and even makes warm milk on the nights when Kurt can’t sleep, which is every night.

It’s not quite right, but it’s still nice of her.

One morning, a few days after- _after,_ Blaine’s mom has Kurt get dressed up in black pants and a suit jacket and even a tie, and then when the doorbell rings, Kurt’s dad is there to pick him up.

Kurt thinks it might be to bring him home for good, but it’s actually to go to the funeral - to say goodbye, his dad explains.

It feels weird.

It doesn’t really feel like his mom is in that big coffin, or like his mom is being lowered into the big dirt hole in the ground. None of it feels real.

But he knows in his mind and from what everyone is telling him that this _is_ his mom, and it’s the last time he’ll ever see her, and so he cries.

He cries a lot.

And then his dad reaches for his hand, and Kurt never wants to let go. He feels it in their touch, palm to palm, his dad’s roughened hand wrapped around his smaller one, that his dad will take care of him, and they will be okay.

They’ll find a way.

A lot of family members and people Kurt doesn’t know want to talk to his dad after the service is over, and some of them want to talk to Kurt, too.

Kurt doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wants to keep holding his dad’s hand.

Once they finally leave, his dad says a lot of people brought over casseroles and dinners, but he doesn’t even feel like turning the oven on, so they go to McDonald’s, which is usually only reserved for very rare occasions, regardless of how much Kurt asks.

His chicken nuggets taste good until he remembers why he barely ever gets to eat them - because his mom says it’s unhealthy.

And then they just kind of taste like dust.

He sleeps in his own bed for the first time since- _since,_ and even though his dad tucks him in like a burrito and reads him lots of stories and even tries to sing a song, it feels too still and quiet in the room.

He misses his mom.

And he misses Blaine, too.

He got used to sleeping over with him, laying in Blaine’s bed while Blaine snuffles and snores in his sleep on the air mattress on the floor, even though he always says he doesn’t.

Kurt misses his mom and Blaine at the same time, in two different ways, all night and all morning, all the way up to when he hears a knock at the door.

It’s the special knock - _their_ special knock, a certain rhythm that they use when they go over to each other’s houses so they know - so Kurt knows it’s Blaine.

He opens up the door, and Blaine’s standing there looking nervous for some reason, dressed in his nice pants with a collared shirt tucked in and a bowtie. 

Kurt’s never really seen Blaine nervous before, and it makes him feel kind of nervous, too.

Plus he’s still in his pajamas, so he also feels really underdressed - and that only adds to the nerves. 

He’s never liked feeling underdressed.

Blaine tells Kurt he has a surprise, and so Kurt follows him outside and around to the Andersons’ backyard, where Blaine has set up a blanket in the grass, topped with a plate of Oreos and a big bowl of fruit and-

Kurt’s tea set?

He asks where Blaine got it instead of saying thank you or anything else, mostly just confused more than anything and also in awe and still kind of numb all at once.

Blaine explains that his mom talked to Kurt’s dad, and Kurt’s dad brought over the tea set earlier that morning.

Because Blaine wanted to give Kurt a tea party.

If Kurt wasn’t already all cried out, he would have cried all over again - but for a brand new reason this time.

But he _is_ pretty much cried out, so he just sits on the blanket instead, and he lets Blaine pour tea out of the pot and into his mug, and it feels different and not quite right and like a big something is missing, but his parents always told him it’s the thought that counts for things like this.

And the thought really means everything anyways, if he’s being honest.

Kurt picks up the mug, and it feels kind of funny when he wraps his hand around it, and even funnier when he brings it up to his mouth. When he takes a sip, he realizes why.

The tea is cold - _ice_ cold, and it’s really, really sweet.

He must be making a really funny face because Blaine starts laughing a little bit, and his face gets all red, and he ducks his head the way he does when he’s extra embarrassed.

Blaine explains that his mom doesn’t let him use the stove - which makes sense, because he’s still pretty young and kind of short and bouncy for his age. Kurt isn’t sure he’d trust Blaine around a flame either. But instead of setting the kettle, Blaine says, he found some iced tea in the fridge, and he figured it would be close enough.

It’s really not close enough. Iced tea is _not_ fancy, and it’s really different from hot tea and kind of way too sweet, and Kurt never really liked it too much.

But it’s pretty much just different enough to be perfect.

The summer is really hard. Kurt is sad a lot, and he’s lonely a lot, even though he’s barely ever alone, since his dad and Blaine are always around. But his dad is always sad even when he pretends not to be, and Blaine is always checking on Kurt even when he’s pretending to act like he isn’t, and it’s all just weird.

Everything’s different, and everything’s weird, and he hears his dad talking on the phone to somebody one day about finding a _new normal,_ but Kurt doesn’t want a new normal.

He wants hugs and cookies and smiles and laughs and color and light and his _mom._

He doesn’t know if he’ll have any of those things without her.

But once a week, he and Blaine get dressed up, and they set up the picnic blanket with iced tea and Oreos, and the first sip of tea makes them laugh every time, and after each tea party, Kurt feels a tiny bit more like he could be okay.

Maybe someday, at least.

* * *

Kurt is nine when things get bad at Blaine’s house.

Ever since Kurt’s mom died, they have spent a lot more time at Blaine’s because Kurt’s house just felt a little off - and besides, Kurt needs somewhere to go when his dad is at the shop. They never really talk about it, but it just happens, and they both like it that way.

It works really well for the whole school year, and they have lots of big plans for the summer, like movie marathons and building the world’s biggest blanket fort in Blaine’s living room and reading the whole Harry Potter series together.

They’re starting to feel like they’re too old to do silly things like play pirates and have tea parties, even though Kurt kind of misses the tea parties and thinks Blaine kind of misses playing pirates.

It’s okay, though, because they never run out of things to talk about or do together.

Then Blaine’s dad starts being around a lot more, which is kind of weird, but Kurt doesn’t think much about it. He always kind of kept to himself, so his being home doesn’t interfere with Kurt and Blaine’s summer bucket list.

But then Blaine’s dad starts yelling.

A lot.

The first time it happens, Kurt and Blaine are sprawled out on the floor in Blaine’s room, looking at the World Atlas book that a family member got Kurt for his birthday.

He doesn’t really know what to do with it, but Blaine thinks it’s really cool, so they flip through the pages and look at the pictures of different countries and daydream about what they’d do if they visited.

It isn’t long before Kurt starts to think it’s pretty cool, too.

He falls in love with France pretty quickly because it just looks so beautiful and elegant and fancy, and Blaine spends a lot of time in the section about the Philippines because it reminds him of his grandma, who he’s only met once but really, really loves.

They’re on the page about India when the yelling starts.

Kurt can’t make out the words - they’re upstairs with the door closed, after all, and the voices are coming from the floor below. It’s the deep booming of Blaine’s dad’s voice, mostly, loud and agitated, vibrating through the floorboards. There are sprinkles of Blaine’s mom’s voice here and there, and she mostly sounds upset, not angry like Mr. Anderson does.

But Mr. Anderson sounds scary, and Kurt feels it in his bones.

The moment he lifts his head up from where he was studying the pictures in the book, though, he sees that it’s a thousand times scarier for Blaine, maybe even more.

He’s frozen, and Kurt can see his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, and he looks like he wants to cry, but he won’t let himself.

And somehow, it kind of looks like it isn’t the first time this has happened.

Kurt doesn’t know what to say.

He doesn’t know what to do.

His parents argued, of course, when his mom was alive, and sometimes they yelled, even at him, but he yelled back, and they always made up, and they always made things right.

But even in the worst fights, they never yelled like Mr. Anderson.

Kurt isn’t sure he would even know how to.

They stay that way for a few minutes, both staring down at the book but not reading the words, not registering anything on its pages. Even more than the fighting downstairs, Kurt is hyper aware of Blaine, wracking his brain for a way to help.

And then there’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, and Blaine jolts like someone stuck him with a pin, and Kurt is up and on his feet before he knows what he’s doing, grabbing Blaine by the hand.

Kurt isn’t very tough, but his dad tried to teach him when to run and when to fight back - and this isn’t a time for fighting.

And so he pulls Blaine up, and he aims for the only safe, hidden place he knows to go.

Blaine’s closet.

There’s enough room for them both, but it’s cramped, and once the door is shut behind them, it’s dark, too.

They sit down, between boxes of Blaine’s winter clothes and his shelf of shoes, pressed close enough together for Kurt to feel Blaine trembling.

Kurt is scared, too, but he just wraps his arm around Blaine’s shoulders instead of showing it, and he holds him, and he holds him, and he doesn’t let go.

Not until long after the yelling stops.

After the first day, it starts to happen more and more often - most days, actually, at least once. 

The closet becomes their safe space, and they quickly learn to bring a flashlight in with them so they can keep looking at the World Atlas and whispering about where they want to go and the things they want to do, when they’re old enough to venture out on their own.

They get used to it, and if Blaine’s a little more quiet after it happens, well - they get used to that, too.

As long as Kurt can get Blaine to smile before he goes back home for dinner, he figures Blaine will be okay.

When he’s in bed in his quiet room at night, Kurt often wonders what’s going on, what they’re fighting about so badly. Maybe it’s money, or maybe Mr. Anderson is drinking too much alcohol, like Kurt’s dad always says is the reason why Great Uncle Bart gets so angry every year at Thanksgiving.

On his most imaginative nights, especially after he and Blaine start reading the Goosebumps series together, Kurt wonders if maybe the Andersons’ house is haunted by something, and it’s throwing everything off, and the spirits are messing with Blaine’s dad, like they want something from him.

Probably not, though.

No matter what it is, though, it goes like that for a few weeks - and then one day, it’s different.

The fighting is the same, really. Seems like the same length, the same noise level, the same content, as far as Kurt’s ears can tell.

But it’s Blaine that’s different - trembling a little there in the dark of the closet, quieter than normal after.

After the storm passes downstairs, they reemerge from their refuge only to find a storm brewing outside now, rain pattering down on the bedroom window, distant rumbles of thunder echoing in the distance.

Blaine is staring out the window, watching the rain fall, watching it transition from a drizzle to a heavy downpour, as good as expressionless.

It gives Kurt an idea.

He usually hates being out in the rain, is usually protective of his clothes, and so he doesn’t know where the idea came from, isn’t sure why he thinks it might help.

Maybe it’s the way Blaine seems a little more shaken up than usual. Maybe it all affects Kurt more than he wants to admit, more than he wants to recognize.

Maybe he’s getting tired of hiding.

Regardless, he takes Blaine’s hand, and he tugs him out of the bedroom and down the stairs, and the moment he pushes open the back door, he knows it’s where they need to be.

They’re quiet for a long moment, wet grass under their feet, and Kurt watches as Blaine slowly lifts his head up to the sky, eyes closed, rain hitting his face, dripping down his neck, soaking his shirt, every inch of him.

And then he opens his mouth, and he yells.

Kurt’s never seen him this way, never seen _anyone_ this way.

It’s raw, from deep within his heart, full of all the pain of the yelling and the hiding and the tension that Kurt knows is _always_ there, even when the house is quiet.

Kurt barely hesitates before joining in.

He tilts his head up, and he spreads his arms out to his sides, opening himself up, and he screams.

He screams for Blaine at first, for how unfair it is to live in a house where you don’t feel at home, for how young Blaine is, how young they _both_ are, far too young to have to face these feelings, too young to do anything about it, yet old enough to _see_ that it isn’t fair. 

And then he feels the ripple in his throat travel through his bloodstream, filling him with energy, pulling out his pain and releasing it through the ferocity in his voice.

He screams for his mom, for the life cut too short, for the things she’ll never get to do, for the memories they’ll never get to have.

He screams for his dad, for losing his wife, for needing to work ten times harder now, for having to deal with Kurt on his own, because Kurt knows he isn’t always easy to deal with.

He screams for himself, for all of it.

And then, once they’re done, Blaine runs for the swing set, and Kurt follows him, and they play pirates in the storm.

It just feels like the thing to do.

* * *

Kurt is ten when the Andersons move away.

Apparently the reason for all the fighting was that Mr. Anderson lost his job, and he was stressed out and worried about losing all of his money.

Apparently he found a better job all the way in Pennsylvania, even better than his last one, and he’ll make even more money, and Blaine will even go to a private school and everything.

Apparently it means they have to leave right away.

It gives him only a couple days to say goodbye to Blaine.

They promise each other not to act too sad about it, at least not when they’re together. It’s summer, so they have no other obligations apart from one another, and they’re finally old enough for them to hang out at Kurt’s house while his dad is at work, at least for a couple hours at a time.

And so they have plenty of space and privacy to play loud music and dance around and watch the Little Mermaid as many times as they want and fill up on snacks and just _be_ together.

In some ways, it makes it even harder to say goodbye.

The night before the Andersons move, Kurt can’t sleep. He’s laying in bed and staring up at his ceiling in the darkness, blinking and blinking, tossing and turning and _thinking._

Thinking about Blaine.

It’s funny, really, how they’ve only known each other for a few years, but Kurt has almost forgotten what it was like to _not_ have Blaine next door, to not have him in his life.

Even though Blaine promises to call, Kurt figures he’s going to have to learn how to live without him anyways.

But he isn’t sure how.

He barely sleeps a wink that night, busy trying to work out a new schedule and new habits and a new _life,_ busy trying to memorize every detail of Blaine’s voice and his face and his _everything_ so he doesn’t forget.

He doesn’t think he will, but - just in case.

It’s better safe than sorry when it comes to Blaine, the best friend he’s ever had, the best person he’s ever known, even when they bicker and get on each other’s last nerve sometimes.

At the end of the day, he knows in his heart that he loves Blaine a lot, and maybe he’s even a once in a lifetime kind of friend.

Kurt’s really, really dreading saying goodbye.

And so, when morning finally comes and he meets Blaine in his driveway, he decides not to.

Instead, he gives Blaine the biggest hug he can muster, and he presents him with their dog-eared, worn copy of the World Atlas, with a little note inside.

_For Blaine,_

_Thanks for being my best friend. I’ll really miss seeing you everyday but I hope you like Pennsylvania and I hope things are better there. If you ever get lonely, go in your backyard and picture me swinging as high as I can right there beside you, maybe even finally touching the trees. I’ll do the same thing._

_But I bet you’ll make a lot of new friends really fast._

_Maybe we can still meet up in India someday, if you still want to._

_Love, Kurt_

_PS: I know you said you’d memorize my phone number, but I know you’ll forget. Here it is. xxx-xxx-xxxx_

It’s all he needs to say, all he can think of.

Blaine’s eyes widen as Kurt hands him the book, and he tries to give it back, saying it was a present for Kurt, but Kurt insists.

It’ll be too hard to look at it without him.

And so Blaine hugs him again, and he presses a slightly bent card made out of folded construction paper into Kurt’s hand, and then Mr. Anderson tells him to get in the car.

Kurt waves, and he watches them drive away, and that’s kind of it.

He doesn’t realize he’s still standing there, looking at the now-empty driveway next door until his dad comes and puts his hand on his shoulder, asking if he’s okay.

He nods, because even though he isn’t, he knows he’s going to have to be.

It isn’t until he gets up to his room that he remembers the card in his hand, and so he folds it open, finding a scribbled picture of the two of them dressed as pirates and sitting at a tea party.

It’s something Kurt had never let them do - he always said pirates weren’t dignified enough for tea, and the two activities should not be performed together.

But now, the sight of it makes him smile.

On the other side of the card, there’s a note, scrawled in Blaine’s handwriting - which is pretty neat for a nine year old, actually.

_Dear Kurt,_

_I wish I didn’t have to leave. I wish I could come live at your house instead, but I didn’t want to ask because I don’t want your dad to have to take care of me too._

_You’re the best friend I’ll ever have. I’m going to miss you a lot but we’ll talk on the phone every single day._

_To the moon and to Saturn and all over the stars,_

_Blaine_

Kurt finally wants to cry, but he smiles, and he lets out a sound that sounds like a laugh and a sob and feels like a sigh all at once, and his heart aches for his best friend already.

He lays back on his bed, and he holds the card up and reads the note over and over again, feels Blaine in every word, his selflessness and his heart and even his recent interest in outer space.

When he has it memorized ten times over, he sets it on his bedside table, and he decides he’ll probably keep it there forever.

Or at least until he sees Blaine again.

Because he will.

* * *

Kurt is eleven when he loses touch with Blaine.

He isn’t sure exactly when it happens - it isn’t one particular final phone call, isn’t a fight or anything like that.

For most of the summer, they talk almost every day. It’s easy to, considering Kurt’s only real friend was Blaine, and Blaine doesn’t know anyone in Pennsylvania yet.

Once school starts up, the conversations get shorter, and then they start missing a day or two a week, and then they start only _talking_ a day or two a week.

And then less.

And less.

And then Kurt wakes up in a panic on New Year’s Day and realizes he forgot to tell Blaine _happy new year._

And then he realizes he forgot to tell Blaine _merry Christmas,_ too.

He feels bad at first - nearly sick to his stomach, in fact, wracked with guilt he isn’t sure how to deal with.

The obvious solution would be to call Blaine right then and there, he knows, but he hesitates, not knowing why - and then he realizes that Blaine didn’t call him, either.

And so he just kind of leaves it.

And apparently Blaine leaves it, too.

It’s hard, and Kurt feels weird about having unfinished business with Blaine, with having such a big unknown, with feeling such a _wall_ between them that had never been there before.

It’s a wall he doesn’t know how to climb, a door he doesn’t have a key to unlock, an entire ocean between them as opposed to a few states.

Besides that, too, Kurt’s in his first year of middle school, a new campus and building with a mix of new and old classmates, and it’s- it’s kind of bad.

In fact, he’s never felt so alone, and it’s not just because of Blaine - Blaine wouldn’t have been there with him this year, anyways.

He gets glared at in the hallways, shouldered into his locker, picked last for teams in gym class, but none of those things are new.

It stings a little more now, not having Blaine around, not holding the knowledge that he’s in the same _building_ at the very least.

But still, these are the things he can handle.

The whispers, though - those are new.

It’s words like _gay, fairy,_ words that are worse, words that feel like poison dripping from their mouths and shooting Kurt in the chest every time.

And he can’t seem to get used to them, not when he has no one to talk to about it, no way to get it out, not when he has no real friends, not when he can’t talk to his dad about it because he feels to ashamed of what it implies about him-

Not when he’s too busy wondering if they’re right, especially when he runs across a left-behind little piece of Blaine and questions how it makes him feel.

* * *

Kurt is twelve when he realizes he’s gay.

It isn’t a big moment, isn’t a date he can mark on the calendar and remember every year that _this is the day it happened._

Just one night, he’s sitting in front of the mirror, working through his skincare routine, looking at himself.

Really, really _looking._

And he thinks about how he’s growing up a little bit, how everyone around him is, too, how middle school is full of so much more drama, seemingly more every day, mostly because of dating and boyfriends and girlfriends and-

He just doesn’t want a part in any of it, even if he had the option to be.

Because he’s just not interested in girls, and that’s it. It isn’t a revelation, isn’t a dramatic realization - just a simple knowledge settling into his bones, as if a wrinkle was ironed out and everything was set into place.

Even at twelve, he somehow knows that if he’s looking for a boyfriend someday, he won’t ever find one in Ohio.

And so he won’t even bother to look or to worry about it - no point in worrying about things like telling someone, especially because who would he tell besides his dad?

And why would his dad need to know?

It’s just pointless, all of it.

Sometimes he does wonder, though, if Blaine has a girlfriend, if he’s popular at his private school, if the girls have crushes on him.

It never really crosses his mind that someone else his age actually _could_ be gay, too.

Especially not Blaine.

* * *

Kurt is thirteen when he tries to call Blaine.

He’s had a particularly rough day at school, and he gets home and sits down to do his homework and looks at his desk calendar to write the date on the top of his math worksheet.

And he realizes it’s Blaine’s birthday.

He’s drained, and he’s stressed, and he’s lonely, and he grabs the phone without thinking twice about it, and he dials.

The phone rings, and it rings, and it rings, and Kurt holds his breath, couldn’t have breathed even if he tried.

And then it goes to voicemail.

Which is fine, which _would_ have been fine, but Kurt quickly realizes it isn’t the Andersons’ prerecorded message.

It’s someone else’s, a voice and a name he doesn’t recognize.

He yanks the phone back from his ear, and he hangs up, and he checks the number he dialed.

It’s right. It’s the same numbers he dialed dozens of times, _hundreds,_ even, in the past.

The Andersons changed their number - or they got rid of their house phone, or _something._

It doesn’t matter.

Blaine is really, really gone.

* * *

Kurt is fourteen when he gets tossed in a dumpster for the first time.

On the first day of high school.

It hurts, and he cries, and he isn’t proud of himself for that.

It makes him feel like he’s letting _them_ win.

And so he resolves not to cry because of them ever again - and he doesn’t.

Instead, whenever they get to him, whenever he’s on the verge of tears, he stops and he takes a deep breath, and he remembers the times when things were better, when he wasn’t alone.

It’s the only time he lets himself think about Blaine anymore. It’s too strange, too confusing, too _difficult_ otherwise.

But when he’s stuck in the dumpster or wiping the freezing slushie out of his burning eyes or picking himself up off the dirty tile floor of the school hallway, he lets himself remember playing pirates, laughing and smiling and feeling free, even sitting in the dark of the closet and holding Blaine’s hand.

That last part is what he remembers most - the feeling of holding Blaine’s hand, of protecting him, of protecting each other.

The rest of it is blurring, getting fuzzy around the edges, even Blaine’s face, even his voice.

And that hurts even more than the worst bruises from the hardest locker slams.

So after a while, he stops letting himself think about Blaine then, too, and instead he gets up and he takes care of what he needs to take care of and he moves on.

Sometimes not thinking at all is easier.

* * *

Kurt is fifteen when he makes his first friends.

He auditions for glee club on a whim, needing somewhere to go, aching for a way to express himself, to be heard.

No one has ever really listened to him talk, at least not outside of his dad - and at one time, his mom, Blaine.

Maybe they’ll listen to him sing.

 _They_ turn out to be just a handful of people, outcasts like himself. People he recognizes from freshman year and even earlier - a girl who never shuts up, a girl who stutters, a boy in a wheelchair, a girl with a powerhouse voice far too big for Ohio.

And the Spanish teacher.

Kurt tries, but he doesn’t really like any of them, though he isn’t sure why.

He tells himself it’s _not_ just because they aren’t Blaine.

It’s really, really not.

But they sing together several times a week, and as music always does, it brings them together - even when the football players and the cheerleaders join.

There’s always drama, and there’s always arguing, and they don’t have enough numbers to compete and can’t really dance to save their lives, but it’s entertaining.

And after a while, he finds that he likes most everyone there, in some way. Even Rachel.

They still aren’t Blaine - no one could come close, he knows that. It’s a fact of life like anything else.

But it’s still better than being alone.

* * *

Kurt is sixteen when he almost loses his dad.

It’s a cruel sort of irony, the way it happens right after they’ve been fighting.

And they’ve been so _close,_ too, ever since Kurt came out a handful of months ago, afraid and nervous and - in the end - loved, accepted.

But it’s a petty fight, and it’s not worth it, _so_ not worth it, but the idea of losing _another_ parent had somehow never been on his radar, as if losing one checked the box on the risk of it, making the other immortal or at least guaranteed a long, healthy life, to make up for the other-

Suddenly, though, he’s spending his afternoons in a hospital room, holding his dad’s hand, waiting, pleading, near begging, waiting some more.

Sitting there with his dad, he sifts through as many memories as he can recall - memories with both parents, even memories with his parents and Blaine, memories with just his dad, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

He wants to remember it all, just in case.

Part of him wonders if it’s an eight year pattern, if he’ll almost lose someone _else_ when he’s 24.

Almost, or for good.

But for the most part, he focuses on the memories, and he speaks them out loud, too, as if it’ll help him remember them better, as if it’ll help his dad wake up.

Kurt can’t recall a time when he talked so much about his mom, and he’s used to not being heard, for the most part, regardless of what’s he’s saying, but-

Then his dad’s hand twitches in his own, a nearly imperceptible squeeze, and he’s listening, he hears, he’s _there,_ he’s _alive._

_He’s okay._

He’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay.

* * *

Kurt is seventeen when he auditions, and he loses, and he auditions, and he loses again.

First it’s for the male lead in the school musical, which is a loss that hurts, but it’s a loss he can handle. He knows, deep down, that he isn’t exactly the best fit for the role, anyways, that the songs aren’t the best fit for his voice or his style, and he can deal with it.

It hurts because it’s senior year, but it’s okay because it’s _senior year._

And he’s almost done, he’s almost graduated, he’s almost _out._

He and Rachel have a plan - get into NYADA, move to New York, live in a tiny shoebox apartment on a tiny pooled budget and make it in the big city, every bit a coming-of-age movie in real life.

He auditions, and he _kills_ it. He sounds the best he’s ever sounded, and he’s confident, and he’s _unique,_ and the judge tells him as much.

And then the letter comes, and he holds it with trembling hands, and he presses a kiss to the envelope, just for good luck.

He doesn’t get in.

He loses.

He fails.

His dreams are done, his plan over and crushed into pieces after the very first step.

His dad isn’t home yet, and so Kurt is home alone, and he throws the letter in the trash can and he shoves his way out into the backyard and he _runs,_ stopping where the playset once stood, now an empty canvas of grass, and he screams with all of the ferocity in his heart and his soul.

He screams, because he didn’t get in, because he _failed,_ because he was so close, closer than _ever_ to a win, to the biggest win of all, and he still couldn’t do it.

He screams, because he knows he has to tell his dad, and he doesn’t know how he’ll react, and he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want to be a disappointment, doesn’t want _any_ of it.

He screams, because he doesn’t know what to do next, because he doesn’t know how to get _out_ of Ohio now, because he was so _falsely_ confident that he never had a backup plan and _look at him now._

He screams, because he _still_ misses Blaine and still thinks of him, even when he can’t remember his face anymore, wouldn’t know what sixteen-year-old-Blaine looks like anyways, even when he knows Blaine never thinks of him.

He _knows -_ because why _would_ Blaine still think of him?

Kurt’s a failure.

Nothing.

And then he sinks to the ground, and he feels the grass as he threads it through the spaces between his fingers, and he wishes he was seven years old.

* * *

Kurt is eighteen when he moves to New York anyways.

It’s the most spontaneous thing he’s ever done, and he isn’t sure how long he’ll stand it there, scrounging for tips working doubles at the diner and coming home to Rachel Berry, of all people.

He hates it in so many ways, but he loves it for all of the same reasons and then some.

It’s everything he never knew he was missing in his life, and it’s everything he wanted it to be, and it makes him feel _alive._

But it feels like there’s something _missing,_ sometimes, a whisper of a ghost haunting the streets as Kurt walks them, always when he least expects it.

He doesn’t know what it is, though.

And he’s too busy and too tired and too starry-eyed to figure it out.

* * *

Kurt is nineteen when he interviews, and he makes it, and he auditions, and he makes it again.

It’s Vogue, and then it’s NYADA, and everything’s coming together, everything’s _happening,_ his life is starting-

And he’s so painfully busy, even _busier_ now, still needing shifts at the diner to make rent and to be able to eat, too busy to have much of a _life_ outside of any of it, but it’s okay, because he doesn’t need it.

He’s investing in his future, and the things he did in the past weren’t enough to make any of this happen when it was _supposed_ to, and so he needs to put in the extra work now so he never falls behind again.

Never fail again, never lose again, never _disappoint_ again - keep winning, keep winning, keep winning.

Stay ahead.

And if Rachel is his only friend most of the time, even if she drives him insane, and even if he gets a little lonely on the colder, quieter nights, it’s just the price he has to pay.

Someday, he’ll be happy.

Really, truly happy.

* * *

Kurt is twenty when he has to switch his subway route.

His new semester of classes requires a work study program, and so he arranges a musical theater internship with a retirement community, and he visits every morning in order to put together a production.

Of course, it’s out of the way of his typical commute, and so he works out a new one, switching lines and attempting to avoid the crush of people in rush hour.

It takes him a while to iron out the kinks, to settle into his new routine, but eventually, he does - he always manages to find a way.

And then one day he’s running late, _literally_ running through the subway car’s doors as they close, completely frazzled because he _hates_ being late, but Rachel had been hogging the bathroom and he forgot his wallet and had to turn back and it’s just _one of those days._

But he made it - he’s _going_ to make it, at least.

And so he breathes, and he looks around in a halfhearted attempt to find a seat, and he sees Blaine.

Wait-

Kurt blinks. He blinks, and he blinks and blinks again, and Blaine’s still there, sitting a few rows away from where Kurt is standing, studying what looks to be a musical score.

There’s no way it’s Blaine, though, because what are the odds, and why would Blaine be _here,_ and Kurt hasn’t seen him in years, can’t remember what Blaine looked like as a kid and wouldn’t know what he looks like now, and yet-

The man looks up, and his eyes widen, and he hesitates, but then he smiles, and he says Kurt’s name, like it’s a question, and yeah.

It’s Blaine.

It’s Blaine, along Kurt’s subway route, in the same exact car, a handful of feet away, and Kurt can’t think or breathe or _move,_ because as real as it _has_ to be, it can’t be.

But Blaine is getting up, and he’s making his way over, gripping the upper bar of the car and shuffling along until he gets close enough, and he’s hugging Kurt, he’s _hugging_ him, _they’re hugging._

And Kurt is trembling, be it from the vibrations of the moving subway car or something else, but he’s shaking, and Blaine is just _holding_ him like he never let go in the first place.

They pull apart several long-short-endless-blinkofaneye seconds later, both breathlessly, nervously laughing, suddenly unsure of themselves.

Of course, they’re in a subway, and Blaine’s stop is up next, as luck would have it, and so they have time for nothing but exchanging phone numbers, and that has to be it for now.

Blaine says he’ll be in touch, and Kurt decides to believe him.

Surprisingly, or not surprisingly at all, Blaine texts the same day, just as Kurt is clocking out from his shift at Vogue.

And they go from there.

They meet up for coffee a few days later, and they catch up, and they reminisce, and Kurt shares what he’s up to, and Blaine’s impressed, and Kurt feels his cheeks blushing, despite himself.

Blaine talks about being at NYU, about studying music education and composition, and isn’t it funny how they both ended up in music, even though they hadn’t shared it much as children, back when they were friends?

It _is_ funny, and it’s funny how easily they pick up, all considering. 

After all, their friendship was a blip on the radar in the grand scheme of things, just a few years amongst Kurt’s twenty and Blaine’s nineteen, the majority of it over half their lifetimes ago.

It’s funny, too, the way they recognized each other instantly, the way they both still had each other somewhere in the back of their minds in order to do so.

It’s funny how little it suddenly matters that Kurt stopped calling so long ago and that Blaine stopped calling, too, because they’re here now, they’re _here,_ they’re _back,_ they’ve _found_ each other again.

And suddenly it’s like the last piece of the puzzle in Kurt’s pursuit of happiness has slotted into place, Blaine the tether and the glue holding it all together, always was, always will be.

And somehow, it seems to be the same for Blaine, too, even after all this time.

When Kurt gets home, he feels like he could fly.

* * *

Kurt is twenty-one when he falls in love - or rather, when he realizes he’s likely been in love all along.

His life has been a whirlwind graduating college, securing a full-time position at Vogue, finally, _finally_ quitting his job at the diner.

Through all of it is Rachel, of course, and through all of it is Blaine.

Interestingly enough, they’ve become a bit of a trio - Blaine is at the loft more often than not in his spare time, fiddling with his guitar on the couch or reading a book with his feet in Kurt’s lap or kindly, dutifully making Rachel tea, or hot water with lemon, depending on the day.

They have their traditions, from Monday evening potluck dinners with their patchworked group of friends to open mic nights on Thursdays to Sunday brunches - but those, Sundays, are just for Kurt and Blaine.

It’s nice - perfect, really, winding down from one week and transitioning into another with just the two of them, constant and sure and always, always easy.

Kurt feels different with Blaine than he does with anyone else, and he always has, even when he was young. It’s just the way that it is, something he’s never questioned, although Rachel did, early on - but he explained it away quickly, their special type of friendship.

As special as it is, it’s still just that - a friendship.

But even if Kurt knows that, he knows, too, that they’re both gay, and they’re both single, and sometimes they have these _moments_ where things get a little hazy around the edges and the air gets a little thick and heavy and the hairs on his arms stand up on end and-

The moments pass, they always do.

And Kurt and Blaine are fine, because they always are.

One week, though, Blaine _doesn’t_ seem fine - he’s acting a bit off, a bit avoidant, a bit guarded.

His change in behavior flares on Kurt’s radar instantly, because of course it does, but he decides to give Blaine the week.

If he’s still acting odd by their Sunday brunch, Kurt will bring it up with him.

But surely Blaine is okay, because he always is.

When open mic night rolls around, Rachel calls out, saying she isn’t feeling her best and wants to rest up, and- that’s off and avoidant, too, but Kurt doesn’t ask, because he kind of likes the idea of just going with Blaine.

Blaine, who’s acting jittery and nervous, who’s got his guitar strapped to his back by the time Kurt arrives at the bar, who greets Kurt with a quick hug and a flash of a smile and excuses himself quickly, explaining that he already signed up for a slot and he’s up next, actually, if Kurt wants to sit down and listen.

Kurt’s too stunned to argue, and so he sinks onto a stool at their usual table, not bothering to order a drink, not yet.

When Blaine gets up on that little wooden platform, somehow glowing brighter than the artificial stage lighting, Kurt can practically _feel_ the power of the breath he watches Blaine inhale, the cleanse of his deep, heaving exhale, all nerves and tension dissipating out of his fingers.

And then Blaine rights himself on the stool, and he hitches one leg up, guitar on his knee, and he starts to play.

It’s a folk song, strangely, not Blaine’s usual taste and not Kurt’s, either.

But as he begins to sing, his voice curls gently, reverently around every word, every syllable, worrying lines in his face indicative of the feelings he channels through the lyrics, of love once had and then lost and, finally, found again.

It’s beautiful, focus all on the story in the music, Blaine’s fingers delicately picking a soft, accompanimental pattern, just enough to anchor the song in what it needs.

It’s heart, all of it, Blaine’s heart in every inch.

He closes his eyes as he sings, and when he opens them again, he’s looking directly at Kurt - Blaine’s heart straight into Kurt’s, capturing, claiming, settling there, making a home, already his.

It’s Blaine - it’s _Blaine,_ and Kurt breathes out all of the residual worries that he’ll lose Blaine again someday, and instead, he decides to hold on.

He decides to let himself feel.

When the song is over and Blaine leaves the stage, Kurt is there to receive him, right in the darkened wings of the slightly dingy bar.

For once, he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t consider the potential of failing, of losing.

He reaches out, and he takes what he wants, and he _knows_ he’ll get it - get _Blaine,_ pulling him close, sliding his arms around Blaine’s shoulders, taking a moment to just _look_ at him with the built up fondness of fourteen years, all of it shining right back at him, Blaine’s eyes warm, syrupy honey, shining even in the low light.

And then Blaine reaches up to cup his jaw, hands slightly sweaty and calloused fingertips slightly worked rough from his guitar, _perfect_ in every way because it’s _Blaine_ in every way, in every inch, all Kurt can see and feel and think and _breathe,_ the entire world, Blaine in every facet and nook and cranny.

Blaine in his _soul -_ no, Blaine _as_ his soul, filling in the very depths of it as their lips meet for the first time, warm and soft and everything Kurt has ever needed, melting him, strengthening him all at once, bringing him home and sending him off into the multitudes of stars, to the moon and to Saturn and back again, to the little bar where life continues to go on around them.

They smile at one another - shyly, yet full of knowing, and their fingers twine together, and they make their way back to the table, share a round of drinks and listen to the performances to be polite, more than anything, and they stay close, always close, always touching, Blaine’s hand on Kurt’s thigh, Kurt’s hand tucked into the curve of Blaine’s elbow, slipping gently up and down his arm, just feeling him, beginning to learn the parts of him he was never able to but now suddenly _is,_ too impatient to wait any longer.

When they leave, Blaine follows Kurt back to the loft without an invitation, and they curl up in Kurt’s bed, and they kiss each other, and they touch each other, and they _feel_ each other in every way they can bear, and they whisper words that mean nothing and words that mean everything, _you’re just-_ and _when did you know_ and _I can’t believe-_ and _I know_ and _Kurt_ and _Blaine_ and, finally, _I love you._

Blaine falls asleep first, bodies so tangled up together that Kurt forgets where he ends and where Blaine begins, so close that Kurt can feel Blaine’s breathing, the rise and fall of Blaine’s chest against his, the soft puffs against his neck.

It takes Kurt a little longer to drift off, instead busy reveling in the feeling of _being,_ in the feeling of true contentment, in the feeling of finally being together for _real._

It’s just the beginning, and this part of them is all so new, he knows, but he knows, too, that it’s real, that it’s going to last, that this has been growing inside of them for their entire lives, now finally ready to rise to the surface and blossom and bloom, to be passed on like the folk song Blaine sang and all the others in the history of the world.

If only seven year old Kurt had known - if only they had _both_ known how and where they would end up, happy, _together,_ no need for hiding, no ghosts, no closets or screaming in the rain or seeking refuge in an atlas.

Just flying, absolute freedom, swinging into the stratosphere.

He wonders if it’s a fourteen year pattern, if he’ll find Blaine again when he’s 35.

But it doesn’t matter, because he isn’t planning on letting Blaine go. He’ll rediscover Blaine every single day, in big ways and in small, and he’ll fall in love again and again, always learning, always finding, always cherishing.

Always.

From now on, wherever Blaine goes, Kurt will follow - and he has a feeling Blaine won’t leave without him, anyways.


End file.
